


An Autobiographical Account of the Gross Misfortune of a Japanese Economics Student

by NotTheTomato



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 1800s-ish England, Extra: the writing style, M/M, POV First Person, So much Extra, Swooning, Viktor is wet and hot, cravats, not intended to be historically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 12:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTheTomato/pseuds/NotTheTomato
Summary: In which Yuuri has a Flair for the Dramatic(TM), there is sexually-charged academic debate, and cravats flutter in the rain - defying physics, but looking amazing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the nerdiest thing I have ever done in my life. I was reading a work by Thomas Malthus for one of my grad courses when I started imagining Viktor and Yuuri having an academic debate over what I was reading. I shared the scenario with counterheist to have a laugh, but she loved the idea and then I wrote one paragraph. And then two. And then it spiraled out of control and here I fucking am. The first fanfiction I’ve written in over a decade and it’s fucking this. 100% dedicating this to [counterheist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/counterheist/pseuds/counterheist), this fic’s baby daddy.

It is said that the passion between the sexes is necessary and will remain nearly in its present state, but the passion of and between intellectuals is nigh greater and more indispensable in order to birth a higher creation of facts, truths, and principles.

As I sat pondering this truth, peering over the pages of my tome, I dare thought I felt the form of someone's gaze to my adjacent. Solicitously mindful of my posture I turned my sight towards the source of this attention. It was Viktor Nikiforov, an upperclassman of noble academic status and notable bon vivant, a man subject to many an envious stare, for beyond his exemplary writings, he was also of a sumptuous appearance, fair to behold in the eyes of many with his porcelain skin, a firm figure with sharp edges but rounded in the perfect places, and cerulean eyes that shone with a brightness that belied the intelligence behind their gaze. 

Now I cast my thoughts towards the intent of that gaze cast my way. For what reason would he deign to look in my direction? I turned my sight behind me, but saw naught but more shelves stacked high with tomes and publications. As I turned back towards that gaze I saw him, Viktor Nikiforov, twitch one eye. What could such a gesture mean? What had I done to receive the burden of such enmity? Involuntarily I felt my nose crumple into itself as I hurriedly returned my attention back to my tome, though now I could sense even the words casting their sentence on my character. I resigned myself to my judgement and swore to keep away from the fair-haired and fair-hearted upperclassman so as to avert further social disaster. In such a state, I passed the rest of my evening and upon the sound of the ‘Cambridge Chimes’ ringing 10 times in succession, I retired to my room.

\--------

Over the course of the next several days, whilst working upon my research for Dr. Celestino at my assigned desk sequestered in a corner of the library, I found myself involuntarily searching for that same gaze that had pierced my soul and invaded my conscience, to the point that I found myself losing sleep, kept awake by my own foolish ruminations of bright cerulean eyes and delicate hands encased in crisp, eggshell white gloves. I am ashamed to admit I even envisioned those hands brushing against mine whilst passing a book or a slight bump of shoulders against mine, if we were to chance pass one another in a hallway. Such ruminations of such intimate touch was enough to make my face flush an ugly red, splotchy and unpleasant to look at for all burdened with such a sight. Truly, it was absurd to think such a man would do anything less than keep at least a span of three feet away from my person at all times. 

I said as such to my confidant and roommate, Phichit Chulanont, but as was typical for the man, he was flippant in his response.

“Yuuri, my love for you is most deep and fraternal, but you burden yourself too greatly with your pessimist’s thoughts.”

It was crystal clear to me that my friend was an unfortunately poor judge of character when it came to my personage. It only made sense, however, as though we had become fast friends through our sharing of living quarters, our comradery had only begun several seasons prior. Seeking to clarify his ill-conceived presumptions, I chimed back, “Phichit, you did not see how his eye twitched at me! And there is no other reason as to why he would be looking at me, a simple student of economics. I am… myself and Viktor Nikiforov is the human embodiment of perfection.”

Phichit sighed long-windedly, the sigh of a man resigned to his fate, and shook his head in a manner with which I thoroughly disagreed in the intent. “You’ve never thought once that it should please him to gaze upon you? Truly?”

It was a perplexing question, altogether. “Of course not, why should it please him to look upon me?”

“Yuuri.” Phichit looked me dead in the eye with fond exasperation. “You are an international student at one of the most prestigious universities in the world on a full scholarship, AND you are conducting research with Dr. Celestino, an expert scholar in the field of economics.” His voice rose higher and louder as he continued, “Not only that, but you have received your fair share of red roses, gardenias, carnations, daisies…”

“Of which all of those flowers must have been misdelivered or forgotten perchance in the wrong location.”

“And how does one perchance forget a rose upon your assigned desk, Yuuri?”

“In a frighteningly forgetful manner, of course!”

Phichit looked upon my stead in frank disbelief, but he shook his head and took hold of my arm, hooking our elbows together and handing me my hat as he led me along to outside of our shared flat. “Come on then, _good sir_ , I have something new to show you! There’s a fair in town and I saw a chap who takes tintypes.” And thus, I was carried off by my confidant, bosom friend, and the human embodiment of a whirlwind storm into town.

\-----

The next day as I returned to my desk in the library after my courses had concluded, I found my attention yet split, torn between my duty and my absurd ponderings, my gaze periodically wandering towards the rest of the room’s circumference with the hope of seeing again an incredibly accomplished and intelligent man work first-hand, the thought feather-light and hopeful, yet simultaneously chilling to my very core, a feverous nightmare from which there would be no escape, with my foolish dreams torn asunder from a single critical glance and soul sent spiraling into despair. Perhaps, if I were so lucky, Mr. Nikiforov would have forgotten about my existence, and he would look through me as he does with so many other pupils of this esteemed university, careless and blissfully oblivious to such mediocrity.

But alas, that was not to be my fate. For upon the fourth day after his gaze first met mine, calamity struck, decisively and dispassionately. Just as I had settled in with a cup of steaming tea - courtesy of a librarian who must think me frail - to continue studying the works of Mr. Malthus, out of the mists of some bookshelves appeared Viktor Nikiforov, standing in a proximity indeed much closer than three feet. So close was he, in fact, that I could feel the heat emanating off his skin as he stood behind my chair, peering over my shoulders and at the work I was in the midst of reading. Regrettably, I felt my cheeks warm themselves as I could not resist, despite my best efforts, gazing up at Viktor’s glorious personage. For a single moment, it was perfect. Never before had I seen such ethereal beauty that could rival Aphrodite herself in such close proximity, shining all the brighter in contrast to my own ordinary, common, many would say plain, features.

But as I lost myself for just a moment, Viktor seized the opportunity to brush my shoulder as he reached down and picked up my book. It was all I could take to not reel back in shock at the sudden touch, my heart palpitating rapidly within the confines of my chest.

Viktor stepped to my left side and gazed at the book, his expression unreadable, but perfect as always. “Malthus, is it? Are you a fan of his work?” His voice sounded like the flutter of Russian tundra swans honking in the breeze. With a heart-shaped smile and his head tilted dashingly to one side, he looked down at me, and I was struck as pale and still as a marble statue.

“I- um, well, Dr. Celestino- I-“ I fumbled over my words, no better than a foal only moments prior thrust into the cruel, cold, unforgiving world. I took a quick breath to steel myself. “I… yes. I believe his work to be valuable in discussions on- on economic development…” I would have rather been struck by lightning in that exact spot than continue making a fool of myself, but I was not to be so lucky.

Viktor ran his long fingers through his rakish, daringly uncombed hair and flipped it to the side as he glanced down at the work in his opposite hand before catching my eyes with his own. “His work is well-written, of course, but his math is highly presumptive and speculative. And he fails to take into account human ingenuity and technological improvements. He’s rather… old-fashioned, yes?”

With that scathing retort ejaculated from his mouth, Viktor Nikiforov continued smiling at me. He dared to smile at me? I should have known better than to drop my guards, but that was my own error. At that moment it was clear that Mr. Nikiforov meant ill of me, to insult one of the founders of my area of study so offhandedly and with no regard for Mr. Malthus’ favorable points. Of course I was not ignorant of Mr. Malthus’ faults, but Mr. Nikiforov had completely missed the purpose of Mr. Malthus’s primary argument.

I thereby furrowed my eyebrows and announced my retort, my voice only slightly raised and well within the limits dictated by the environment we were both in, “I, um, I’m sure you mean no disrespect, good sir, but you are failing to take consider that Mr. Malthus’ math is not meant to be an exact science. It is demonstrative of his point- that population growth can outstrip the ability of society to provide for it if left unchecked. Therefore! His critique is not old-fashioned, but extremely relevant to current economic discourse!”

My heart was pounding in my chest at challenging the Viktor Nikiforov, but he did not seem perturbed. In fact, he almost appeared to be… pleased? I quickly I dismissed the thought as foolish and deduced that he must be angrier than I first thought. That thought sent my heart reeling, but my head held firm. As Phichit Chulanont could unfortunately attest, I hated to lose.

Viktor responded with ease and amusement. “But does Malthus not also say that there are natural cycles that keep population growth within human means? Therefore, cannot development be viewed as continuous progress? Every day we are inventing greater and more efficient ways to produce goods.”

I could not help myself as I pushed myself up and out of my chair and interrupted his speech, “Yes, but, as he says we have limited natural resources! There are hard limits as to what the Earth can provide. Eventually there will come a point where economic growth cannot continue as it does now.”

Viktor smiled still wider as I stood, and I strengthened my resolve not to look at his beautifully straight and well-cared-for teeth with not even one missing. It occurred to me suddenly how close we had become, scarcely inches between our persons. Viktor Nikiforov – whom I was so rudely debating, but yet how could I stop? – was so near I could feel my breath catch in my throat as one gloved hand brushed back a stray lock from my normally well-combed hair. At that moment, I felt one with David. I imagined if life would be easier if I too were a statue of marble. Certainly, I would be more handsome. Perhaps even someone with as much beauty and intelligence as the man before me would care to look upon my form.

“But as you know, Mr. Katsuki, there are societal checks to controlling population growth.”  
My train of thought was derailed, crashing violently and killing thousands as Viktor spoke, his smile morphing into something more teasing? Dare my heart say it, flirtatiously? His eye then twitched like it had days before and I could scarcely believe what I was seeing in front of me. It was then that a thought struck me like a slap to the face. Did Viktor know of my admiration for his work? Had he realized that it pleases me to look upon his form? How did he know my name?

My mind was whirling at the possibilities when it dawned on me that, no, he did not know of my admiration; rather, he must be mocking me for daring to speak to him as an intellectual equal. I had overstepped my place in the academic world. I was merely a humble first year doctorate student whilst Viktor Nikiforov was an illustrious, well-published, and multiple award-winning fifth year student scheduled to defend his theses in the spring and already on the accelerated track for professorship. In order to prevent further embarrassment on my part, I knew that I must make a swift exit.

I took a step back, my chair scraping across the floor like an orchestra of children aged merely four years practicing the violin as I pushed it back before bowing deeply from the waist as was the custom of my motherland. “I am truly sorry for overstepping myself, Mr. Nikiforov! I will endeavor not to make such a mistake again!” And then with my apology suitably relayed I stood back up and walked away as quickly as was appropriate in a library, perhaps a bit more than what was suitable if I am being perfectly honest. And if I am being more honest still, I regrettably must relay that as I dashed outside the esteemed building it was not truly rain upon my face (in fact it a rare sunny day) as I knew then that, truly and honestly, Viktor Nikiforov hated me.

\--------

It was to my overwhelming relief that as I arrived back that my flatmate and close associate, Phichit Chulanont, was not at home so I could retreat to my bedroom and spend the rest of the evening in sequestration. When I awoke the next day, it was to the clamor of rampaging hoofbeats against my bedroom door. I squinted my useless eyes in the blurry light at its direction as the door opened – without my given permission, I might add! – and my busybody of a dear friend blustered his way in.

“Yuuri! One of the librarians told me you left your bag at your work desk yesterday so I retrieved it for you.” He set the bag down on the desk situated in my room and turned towards me, his face unreadable - to be fair, largely as I had yet to put on my spectacles. Blindly reaching over to the small table adjacent to my bed, I grasped my round spectacles and placed them on my face, blinking as the world came into focus with my friend fluttering about over me like a hummingbird over a particularly smelly and brain-addled flower.

“Are you sick?” he questioned as he placed the back of his hand to my forehead. My stomach twisted into knots as I realized how I must look, my eyes splotchy, the skin under my eyes dark as night, and my hair in such disarray that if perchance my mother were to gaze upon it she would be left faint, screaming in horror. Phichit was one of the few men on the entirety of this Earth I would trust to see me this way, but even then, it always left me with a feeling that I had gravely disappointed him by not putting on my best face for his company.

I sat up in bed with the speed and grace of a slug, and Phichit sat down next to my legs. I dared not look him in the eyes. For a moment, I considered lying, but no, I knew if I was going to commit to staying out of Mr. Nikiforov’s way then I would need to inform my flatmate of my new schedule. If there was ever a time for me to use my backbone, this was that moment!

So, I gathered up my inner strength to speak firmly and confidently like the man I had become, but the moment I opened my mouth it all splintered and shattered like my heart. “I-! I- no, I’m- I’m not sick. It’s…” My words caught in my throat. I thought I had released all of my shameful emotions the night before, but it appeared that was not the case as I sniffled. There was a shuffling sound and then warm arms encased me in a hug. “I-It’s… I’ve made many, many mistakes, but this one was the absolute worst. He- Viktor- he hates-” I harshly bit my lip, unable to bear even merely saying the horrible words aloud. I sucked in a shaky breath, my vision swimming, my heart drowning.

“Oh Yuuri… I’m so sorry.”

Encased in Phichit’s warm arms I finally collapsed into his embrace as the dam burst and my emotions flooded all over my face and onto my closest friend’s shirt. I sniffled again and mumbled into his shoulder, my words struck vibrato from my shaking, “Sorry- about your shirt.”  
I felt more than heard his soft laugh, his hands rubbing circles on my back, reminding me of a mother’s touch.

“It’s fine, truly. Yuuri, you know I love you, right?”

My eyes were still watery enough for ducks to swim in as I slowly lifted my head to look at him. Phichit was smiling so softly it left my heart aching as he continued.

“So you know that you mean so much more to me than some silly shirt.”

My ponds were turning into lakes at this rate, blobs of tears rolling down my face as I struggled to wipe my eyes with a sharp laugh. I would never understand how I had managed to earn the trust and support of such an amazing friend.

Slowly, but surely, a smile crept back onto my face. My heart remained heavy as lead, but in my head the storm was giving way, the clouds were starting to dissipate, and a few beams of light from this sunny man before me were making their way through. Even if my acquaintance with Mr. Nikiforov was irreconcilably ruined and the man completely, utterly, and understandable hated my personage, it was a relief to have a friend.

The next several weeks ran smoothly after that as I adjusted my schedule to minimize as much as possible any sightings of a certain Russian scholar. I saw Mr. Nikiforov on one occasion, but I barely managed to duck out of his line of sight behind a taller, dark-haired man and bring my work to a more suitable location. If I were to be completely honest, I, of course, was not particularly happy with this arrangement, but it suited me well enough as I reminded myself of my lot in life. 

I would have eventually grown used to the arrangement if it were not for the man in question whom I was avoiding. The genius who, for better or worse, richer or poorer, never failed to surprise me.

\---------

Upon the three-week anniversary of my acquaintance, or avoidance as my bosom friend Phichit would put it, with Mr. Nikiforov I walked peacefully and alone towards my residential building whilst out of the sky the rain was attempting almost futilely to flood the Earth. Fortunately, I had remembered my umbrella unlike other unfortunate souls I had seen running past, and so I held it in one hand, the other carrying my bag chocked full of my books and papers for the evening’s study. As I made my way across the school grounds, I tilted my umbrella backwards and looked up into the sky, contemplating for an utterly exhausted moment if one could drown in the rain.

“Yuuri Katsuki!”

I heard an oddly familiar voice call out to the side of me, vibrating through my body like a rumbling of thunder. As I turned towards the caller the world appeared to grind to a sharp halt like one of Phichit’s tintypes. My heart started palpitating rapidly in my chest. My thoughts sputtered like a geriatric horse attached to an overladen carriage. It was, empirically speaking, a most unpleasant experience that forced my feet to halt in their progression to safety.

Viktor Nikiforov. I saw him practically sprinting towards my person, his roguish demeanor drenched, but undampened, the rain soaking his suit so that the fabric clung his figure in a most flattering fashion, his trousers hugging the slight form of his thighs, though somehow his cravat remained aloft, fluttering from his self-created wind against his chest. As he skidded to halt in front my person, stooped over to catch his breath in shallow pants, I could see all too well the flush of his cheeks from the exertion and his usually artfully tousled hair slick against his beautifully slightly-larger-than-average forehead. My eyebrows drew together and I nibbled on my lower lip as I questioned what the man before me was doing out in a rainstorm without nary even an umbrella. I remembered my pledge to avoid the man, but he had called out my name, and my guilt remained over my last bout of rudeness so, despite my better nature that impelled me to keep my distance, I drew rather closer to the other man and held my umbrella above both of our heads.

Viktor Nikiforov looked up as I shielded him from the rain and a smile so dazzling, so blinding the sun could scarcely compete, drew across his face.

“Yuuri!! Yuuri Katsuki!!! It was you after all! I finally found you!”

I started like a spooked mare as he straightened to his full height, our faces all at once uncomfortably close, and I, in great haste, hastened several steps back to put some distance between our persons, but this course of action left Viktor in the rain once more so, to my own embarrassment and discredit, I shoved my arm towards him so that my umbrella was located over his head, and I left myself standing in the rain.

Viktor blinked and for a few moments his beautiful ocean blue eyes (which in that quiet moment I realized reminded me of my hometown) gazed into my boring browns as the rain kept pouring down from the sky. Without warning, like a strike of lightning, he burst out laughing. He laughed openly and beautifully, as he does in all things, and in great bellows like gusts of wind, curling into himself as I stared at his form, taken aback and unsure how to proceed in this increasingly bizarre and incomprehensible situation.

“What- what is so funny?!” I asked, voice raised so as to be heard over the rainstorm. I blinked but once when, without any sort of warning, Viktor Nikiforov had pushed my arm back towards my person and appeared before me much too close for would be deemed appropriate for standard social etiquette. He was still laughing almost hysterically, and I wondered for a moment if Mr. Nikiforov had drawn ill from overexposure to the rain when the man with hair that shines like the stars said what I would never have expected to hear in a thousand of thousands of years.

“It’s just-! I love you Yuuri Katsuki! Most ardently and truly!”

My mouth fell open agape at the confession, and for a moment I wondered if must be dreaming. I pinched my wrist and winced. Ah. So it was real after all. Silence drew between us for a minute as nervous tension hung in the damp air, Viktor’s handsome, soaked features shifting back from nervous to determined as he continued.

“This is not at all how I planned to do this, but I do not care anymore! Yuuri, I’ve been yearning to tell you for ages, but you never responded to my letters or my bouquets of flowers.”

Flowers? Letters? As I thought back I did recall receiving some letters, but after I opened the first one and started perusing its contents I rapidly realized it was, in fact, a love letter, and a flowery, thoroughly lovesick one at that, which immediately alerted me to the fact that its intended recipient must not have been I. My mind had been torn in twain between wishing to discover the letter’s intended recipient so that I might have delivered it to the correct person or respecting the recipient’s privacy. In the end, I knew that privacy was of utmost import, but I felt it shameful to throw away something so personal, so instead I had put the letters into a drawer of my desk. And, of course, I had received flowers on a number of occasions, but now Viktor was saying he had…

“You truly sent me letters? And flowers?”

Viktor’s angelic face grimaced in apparent realization. Even his grimace was unfairly beautiful. “You did not receive them?” As I carefully watched his features I felt a moment of emotional whiplash as he once more proved his determination. Viktor pushed his perfect wet hair back and lowered himself onto one knee as I felt all the blood throughout my body rush to my face and ears. My eyes caught his and were ensnared like a fly in a venus fly trap with no hope of escape.

“Yuuri Katsuki. With all of my heart I have fallen for you! Ever since we drunkenly swam in the river and you saved my life I have loved you. I read your thesis on the economic and social limits of natural resource exploitation and fell even more deeply in love. You inspire me to heights I have never known. You are as beautiful as the moon and as intelligent and fierce in spirit as Athena and,” he took my hand into his own and kissed it, succeeding the action by pulling out a damp, slightly compressed red rose held within his inside suit pocket, “I seek to court you, if you will have me.”

For a moment, I thought my umbrella had been swept away from me as I felt wetness on my cheeks, but to my alarm I became aware that the water was not rain, but in fact tears pouring down my face like my heart had been swept out to sea. Upon my realization, I heard a sob expel itself from my throat. 

As I hastily lifted my hand to wipe my eyes with the hand holding my umbrella, I noticed then Viktor’s expression of horror. He looked aghast, frozen in place, but as I futilely tried to gain control of my foolish emotions he stood up, releasing my hand and looking at me like a lost, half-drowned puppy, both in expression and demeanor.

“I-! You are crying, why are you crying?” His hands were moving animatedly as he continued, “Oh no, was that too much? Was my passion too exuberant? I have heard you are Japanese and I know your culture is more soft-spoken than my own, though do not misunderstand I still fervently and ardently believe in what I said but-“

With my face aflame in a deep crimson and my composure as shattered as my beliefs, I covered Viktor’s mouth with my hand in order to save us both from further embarrassment. His expression looked so alarmed and helpless in a way that distinctly reminded me of a just-disciplined puppy that I could not help the giggle that escaped my lips, and once that first one was released, it was like a flood as more followed, and before I knew it, I was the one bending over and laughing this time.

As I bent down, my umbrella came down with me and I had to stop my descent as my umbrella hit something. Looking up I realized it was Viktor’s head, his face looking even more bewildered, and I felt a fresh wave of hysterical laughter hit me. 

The laughter felt therapeutic, as if my anxiety and fears from the past few weeks were being released all at once with every burst of sound. His face was, frankly, amazing. When I finally managed to calm myself down and straightened my posture, I belated realized looking at Viktor’s weary, anxious face that my response may have, in fact, been very rude.

“I- apologies! I just- your face- it… It reminded me of my dog back home. He made that same face when I would lecture him for relieving himself inside the house. Oh, I’m really botching this. My apologies!” I swallowed a lump in my throat as I continued, “I, well, were you serious about what you said? Honestly?”

Viktor’s demeanor burst through the clouds. “Honestly! Truly! Most fervently! Passionately! Yuuri, I will say it as many times and as loudly as I must. I love yo-!”

I covered his mouth again with my hand, my cheeks so hot I feared I may erupt as in a volcano.

“I understand. Just please, don’t say it so loudly whilst we’re outside,” I hissed.

Viktor was perceptive and cunning to the point that it was, truthfully, both wonderful and a tinge frustrating, catching on much too quickly.

“And, if we were to retire inside?”

“I… I would not be against hearing about such a matter further.”

“So you accept my request to court you?”

“Well, I do not understand why you would seek to do so…”

Viktor gasped so dramatically I felt he would receive a standing ovation at The Globe Theater. “Yuuri!”

“It-it is just that-! You are the Viktor Nikiforov! You’re a genius economist who’s won scores of awards! Your Bachelor’s thesis on the principles of political economy and industrial resources was revolutionary!”

Viktor gasped again and placed his gloved delicate hands to frame his wet, rosy cheeks in apparent utter delight. “You really read my Bachelor’s thesis?”

I groaned, embarrassment blossoming across my face. “That was not my- well, I guess… Truthfully, I’ve read all of your work.” My words crammed together like a crowd at a festival. “It is what inspired me to apply for the economic department at this particular university…”  
Before I had a chance to embarrass myself further to Viktor Nikiforov and possibly the entire apartment building adjacent to our rather loud conversation, Viktor smiled beatifically, his mouth so wide and bright and mysteriously heart-shaped it was starting to become worrisome.  
“Oh Yuuri! I don’t think I’ve ever… I… I-!!“

I almost failed to notice his words trailing off, I was so transfixed by his lips, but as he swayed on his feet and started to fall in a swoon, on sheer instinct I released my umbrella from my hand and caught his graceful, but surprisingly heavy figure. All my years of carrying heavy books up and down thousands upon thousands of flights of stairs had culminated into this one defining moment of my life: holding Viktor Nikiforov within my arms.

I crouched and knelt down to the ground so that I could cradle him against one arm so my now freed-arm could retrieve my umbrella, holding it overhead, though at this point it was questionable how much of a difference it would make. I looked around our vicinity in panic, wishing vehemently that another gentleman would be passing by, but alas, the courtyard stood barren.

I looked once more down upon the passed-out beauty in my arms, chewing upon my lower lip again as was my distasteful habit and debating within myself whether to chance carrying Viktor in my arms to shelter when I felt a stirring, and I looked down to see the man in question flutter his eyes open.

“Yuuri…” he muttered, before blinking again, slowly and thoughtfully, and looking up at my plain visage. “Yuuri! Why am I being held in your arms? Not that I hold any such complaints about this arrangement.” And he gave me his smile that had stolen my heart.

I felt my whole body heat up under the intensity and charm of that smile, and for a moment, panic struck my heart, but I mustered what little courage I held and replied quietly, “You, um, you fainted and I caught you in my arms…”

Viktor sat up and contorted his broad chest, his shirt stretched tight from where it clung wetly to his skin, in order to take my hand once more. “Yuuri, have you thought about what I said?”

I feigned ignorance and studiously avoided his gaze. “What about what you said?”

“About my desire to court you! I love you Yuuri and I wish to be given the chance to prove it to you!”

I had yet to come up with a suitable answer to that so for a few drawn-out moments there was nothing but the steady pouring of the rain surrounding us, millions of water droplets rushing down on my umbrella and Viktor’s trousers left exposed in the rain.

Viktor smile was weakening, becoming less real, and I was struck by that thought – that I could differentiate between this man’s false and true smiles, and that while we had been talking I had seen nothing but truthful ones. I felt my heart rise into my throat, and I had to swallow it back down in order to speak. 

“I… still do not understand why you seek to do so, but I… yes. Yes! I accept!”

And suddenly it was like the rain had halted and the sun had exposed itself beneath my umbrella. I thought before that his smile had been bright, but now I could firmly state that it was the most gorgeous sight I had seen in my life. While I was blinded by his smile, Viktor’s arms wrapped themselves around my chest, and I was frozen to spot by his extremely bold gesture, my senses overwhelmed by the subtle scent of musk and spices and the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

“I promise, you will not regret this.” He pulled back to look me in the eyes. “Even if you do not love me now, I will earn your love!”

Oh, but if Viktor only knew the depth of my affections for him, as deep as the bottom of the ocean and as broad as its waves. How could I tell him that I had not just read his Bachelor’s thesis, but a copy of every work he had published? How could I tell him that I had taken into my possession one of the posters that had been put up around the university in celebration of his latest academic award because it had his portrait? Not to mention the handkerchief embossed with the initials “V.N.” that even in that moment was carefully carried in my inner jacket pocket for safekeeping? I had found it left behind in a classroom one day and decided to keep it on my person in case I were able to find its original owner. Whom may or may not be Viktor Nikiforov. Phichit knew about this secret, and the only reason he was not judging me, I imagine, was because I was too busy judging myself.

As my mind raced in its haste to find a non-embarrassing, socially acceptable answer, a squeak accidentally vacated my mouth instead. I immediately covered my mouth with my free hand, in the process accidentally hitting Viktor’s beautiful face. 

I jolted and blurted out, “I’m so sorry! Again! Truly, that was an accident!”

Viktor lifted his hand to rub his cheek, but his cheeks looked puffed out like a blowfish and he was biting his lips in amusement. He took my hand once more and turned it over, pressing a kiss to my gloved palm and greeting me with a warm, heart-shaped smile.

“I know! Don’t worry Yuuri, I know you’re a bit clumsy, but that’s okay. It is endearing! Now I have one more request.” He suddenly looked serious, gazing up at me with his bright eyes the color of the ocean, “Would you… co-write an academic paper with me?”

With a roar in my ears like a tidal wave crashing over me I gaped at him. I swore I could see my life flash before my eyes and I prayed in thanks to whatever Christian God Viktor believed in as I nodded my head furiously, my eyes welling up yet again. “I’d like nothing more!”

This time I took the initiative and hugged Viktor, holding him tightly against me. For a moment, my chest was tight as I fretted over whether I had been too forward, but when those long arms encircled me I was finally able to relax.

As my heart finally started to calm itself to a level normal for most humans, I realized belatedly just how soaked we both had gotten. I frowned then, looking at the state of both of our clothes and grimacing at my drenched bag sitting just outside of the safety circle of my umbrella. “But first, let’s go inside so that we may not become ill from this weather.” 

And thus, after retrieving my soaked and ruined bag, the pair of us walked briskly back to my flat whereupon after hurriedly taking down all of my posters and hiding them carefully in the bottom of my dresser, I gave Viktor a towel, some warm clothes, tea, and my bed to sleep upon for the night.

\---------

The next morning I awoke to the sound of sniffling and groaning from behind me. Slowly and carefully I rolled myself over and saw Viktor Nikiforov, in the flesh, in my bed, his nose red and runny and his body temperature running hot enough that it felt palpable even a foot away. All at once my memories of the previous night came rushing back and I was left reeling like a runaway carriage careening off of a cliff.

Viktor upon noticing I was awake and gaping at him, made an expression I could only describe as a pout (the effect was absurdly adorable and once more reminded me of a puppy – slowly I was realizing that I was to be courted by a human puppy), and he whined nasally, “Yuuri! I’m dying!”

I recalled thinking once that passion of and between intellectuals is indispensable for creation of greater knowledge, but in that moment as I held back laughter, my heart light and warm, I thought selfishly that perhaps passion for knowledge could be secondary to passion for love. Upon thinking that, Viktor made a peculiar expression. I leant forward to see what was wrong, but before I could puzzle together what it meant, he sneezed onto my face. I looked at him as dry as my face was wet. Perhaps, I would have to give this some more thought.

**Author's Note:**

> \- This could also be subtitled “Why Listening to Chris is Not Always a Great Idea”. Though in Chris’ defense it’s hard to prepare for anxiety-driven paranoia. And it worked out in the end so all’s well that ends well.  
> \- Yuuri may or may not have stolen one of the posters with Viktor’s painted portrait celebrating his latest academic award and may or may not have it on his bedroom wall. Viktor may or may not have noticed this once they are both in daylight in Yuuri’s room and he may or may not be jealous that he doesn’t have his own Yuuri poster. He settles for getting a tintype from Phichit (and adding to his own embarrassing collection of Yuuri-things).  
> \- Flower Language:  
> o Red roses: lol what do you think  
> o Gardenias: you’re lovely, secret love  
> o Carnations: fascination, divine love  
> o Daisies: Innocence, loyal love  
> \- Tintypes: a predecessor to photographs  
> \- [Russian tundra swans](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zoXgksYsNw4)


End file.
